Sometimes when I look at my three-year-old daughter, it’s like I’m looking at her for the first time.
Tonight, going to bed, as usual is like civil war. But when we get into bed and we’re finally in cuddling position, she turns back toward me and strokes my face. My first thought is; “she’s never going to sleep,” but then, for some reason, I just relax and let her small hand brush the hair from my face and then I brush the hair from hers and I stroke her cheek and look at her again like’s it the first time.
Most nights I do these things to try to get her to sleep as fast as possible. But tonight I do it because she’s three years and eleven days old for only this day and because her face looks like the reflection of the moon and because I can’t believe these aren’t my thoughts every night. I usually watch the clock and it usually takes way-too-long and it’s way-too-frustrating and I want me, me, me time. Isn’t it funny how they know when your intention is real.
But tonight three strokes of her cheek and she is out and I stay even though she is snoring and I hold onto the moment for a space-of-time that has already past but now lives inside of me forever. Clock or no clock.